


An Act of God

by TerribleAndSadThings



Series: Godsend [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleAndSadThings/pseuds/TerribleAndSadThings
Summary: "For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast." -Ephesians 2:8-9





	An Act of God

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. The ending section is more dramatic and probably better written than the majoity of it. 1. Since the first part is told from Michael Angelo's p.o.v. He's referred to as "Sheldon" in the narrative since that is his birth name. Even when people are constantly calling you by a different name doesn't mean you change it in your head. 2. Yes, the Courier is an actual idiot. 3. considering a flash of Joshua discovering the photos and *makes the "jacking off" motion*. Lemme know if you'd be interested in reading that. 4. usual disclaimer: poetic license taken with Christian theology

Sheldon Weintraub hunched his shoulders and tucked his hands under his armpits, hugging himself. He stared blankly at his workbench, almost managing not to think about it, almost managing to keep what he saw from his head. Stacked haphazardly, just a few feet away sat 24 glossy eight by ten photographs Sheldon developed himself only hours before. For about the fourteenth time, he wondered why he did. The moment he saw the negatives he should have just stopped, set them down, turned around, and walked out of the dark room.

Alone in his workshop, Kate long gone to sleep, Sheldon stood in the flickering light of a two hundred year bulb and thought “I'm never going to be able to look him in the eye again.”

When the Courier first showed up in his studio, Sheldon had been wary. To be fair, the Courier attempted to coerce caps from him until the blond doctor smacked the back of the head and told him to have some decency. After being forced into an insincere apology accompanied by an eye roll, the Courier proceeded to throw an arm over Sheldon's shoulder and vividly describe the world beyond the studio. However, Sheldon found fiends, mutants, slavers, and sand around every bend to be less enticing than the Courier did. Although he needled Sheldon, insisting it wasn't that bad, he eventually gave up, sighing heavily to let his disappointment known. Still, he was determined to help despite his initially unscrupulous behavior.

When the Courier agreed to go gamboling around the Mojave to photograph famous signs to inspire him, Sheldon had thought he was a godsend. Now that he saw the photographs, well, Sheldon wasn't so sure. Oh, the Courier brought back photos of the signs, yes, but it was what was on the rest of the film that disturbed him. Well, and the shot of the Dinosaur Thermometer in Novac that he had somehow managed to capture the exact moment a woman's head exploded in the foreground was more than a bit disconcerting as well.

The Courier requested he develop all of the film, eagerness lighting up his doe eyes. Sheldon, like a sucker, agreed. Sheldon, the naive idiot that he was, didn't actually consider what sort of photographs the Courier would have taken. It was the Courier. He really should have.

"Hey, buddy," said a voice somewhere to his right.

Sheldon didn't know what it was like to die from terror even if he felt like he might every time he thought about leaving, but if he had to imagine, it be something like what his heart did just then. He jerked to the left, smashing his knee into the workbench, tripping over himself, and let out a choked noise that might have been a scream. However, it was cut short at the realization he lost his balance and was about to fall to the floor. Only the hand that snagged the back of his jumpsuit kept him from hitting the ground. Eyes wide and heart racing, Sheldon hung right above where he might have fallen for a moment before the Courier yanked him upright. Holding him steady as he found his feet, the Courier thumped Sheldon twice on that chest in what might have been camaraderie.

"Jumpy, aren't ya?" the Courier asked, smile too innocent for a smirk, but somehow still mocking.

"I wasn't expecting visitors," Sheldon wheezed, wincing as he rubbed his chest where the Courier hit him. For a moment he was annoyed with himself for sounding so apologetic when it was the Courier who snuck up on him in his own home during the middle of the night, but when he face the Courier to rebuke him, his mouth went dry. 

The Courier looked up at him, eyes warm and smile happy, not a shred of shame to be found on his sharp face and suddenly all Sheldon could think of was the photographs. His throat stuck and cheeks burned increasingly hot until he realized he was staring and snapped his gaze back to the floor.

"Don't get a lot of late night visitors, do ya, Mikey?" the Courier laughed, and then punched him in the arm in what Sheldon assumed to be an affectionate manner, but ended up being hard enough he stumbled.

Cheeks still red, Sheldon shot a glare at the Courier and rubbed his arm. "You're the only one."

The Courier smiled his brilliant smile and then laughed again. "Guess you don't need visitors when you got your lovely assistant right in residence." Tossing up a finger gun, the Courier winked and clicked his tongue. "How about that, Mikey?" He waggled his eyebrows at the implication.

"It's Michael Angelo," Sheldon muttered at the floor, but sighed, aware anger meant no difference to someone as obtuse as the Courier. "Can I help you?"

Immediately, the Courier straightened up. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he bounced on the balls of his feet in excitement. "Didja do the thing with the camera?"

Sheldon remained silent causing the Courier to slow his bounce and frown.

"What?"

"Nothing, just," Sheldon wussed out. He cleared his throat. "Nothing, they're over there." Looking up to meet the Courier's eyes, he jerked his head in the direction of the damn photos, but the Courier didn't move.

The Courier had ceased bouncing altogether and now stared at Sheldon with enough intensity to cause Sheldon's cheeks to flush again.

"What?" Sheldon asked, a bit too sharply.

The Courier furrowed his brow. "'Just' what?"

"Nothing," Sheldon repeated.

Apparently unsatisfied with his answer, the Courier stepped directly into Sheldon's space, forcing him to inch back in order avoid touching only to bump into his workbench. Oblivious to personal boundaries as always, the Courier came even closer, stretching up to his tiptoes to get in Sheldon's face despite Sheldon leaning as far back as possible. At this point, the Courier had plastered himself again Sheldon's body, shoving one knee between Sheldon's legs so there was no space between them at all. Sheldon's fingers clenched the edge of his workbench while he tried furiously to remain calm, even as the Courier came millimeters from his face.

"'Just' what?" the Courier asked again, voice the same volume as before, but sounding so much louder that much closer. "Come on, Mikey. Don't leave me hanging." Then he very deliberately lowered his voice. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"The photos!" Sheldon blurted out, realizing the Courier would not quit and he was long past avoiding humiliation. Finally getting himself together, Sheldon shoved him off, even if the Courier dropped back more of his own violation than from being pushed. "They're-- Why would you take them?" Sheldon did his best not to sound on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"To impress Joshua." Unexpectedly, the Courier slunk back and glanced away unsure. "Do you think they're not good?" He rubbed the back of his neck and then looked back to Sheldon with the kind of innocent worry found on a child. "I mean the deathclaws were kind of rotten, but that's only 'cause I killed them a couple of days before you gave me the camera and it took awhile to convince Arcade to go back to the cavern."

Irrationally, Sheldon felt a twinge of pity for the Courier, but more for Arcade. "That's not what I--Okay, yes, that was disgusting, but still impressive. I was referring to all those pictures of you."

The Courier blinked.

"The naked ones?"

The Courier cocked his head to the side, confused.

"What about the red headed women?"

Understanding seemed to dawn on the Courier. "Ooh, that's Red Lucy. She'd fucking wild." He smiled at the memory, but then shrugged. "I don't think she'd be into you though. Sorry."

"No, that's not--for god's sake--" Sheldon closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, taking a long breath before looking to the Courier again. "The dick pics. Why did you take so many dick pics?"

"To impress Joshua," the Courier repeated. "I just told you."

While Sheldon understood life was considerably different than how he was raised in the Vault, he was pretty sure the Courier was exceptional even for New Vegas. Aside from his questionable rather disconnected reasoning, the Courier's understanding of human social interaction seemed to be lacking at best. When the Courier went about climbing the scaffolding, falling, and then climbing again, Arcade had attempted an apology for the Courier's general behavior, but with no real explanation for it. Sheldon eventually concluded Arcade functioned more as a custodian than a companion. The more he interacted with the Courier the more Sheldon realized much of the Courier's communication issues stemmed from his absolute egomania, never concerned over other people's understanding of any given situation and never inclined to explain himself, simply expecting the world to give him whatever he wanted.

"And who is Joshua?" Although unsure why he felt obligated to, Sheldon tried to figure out exactly what the Courier was trying to do and who this Joshua was. Maybe most importantly, why.

At the name, the Courier brightened up once more, becoming animated. "Oh, he's dope as hell. We killed all the White Legs together and he let me go fisticuffs with Salt-Upon-Wounds. It was awesome." The Courier's eyes shined as he said this, voice filled with something akin to awe. "He's Mormon," the Courier added though from what he had come to know of the Courier, Sheldon suspected he had no idea what that meant.

"So can you tell me precisely why you want-"

"Need."

"--need to impress Joshua?"

"Cause I'm in love with him," the Courier said this as if it was obvious, a look on his face saying he thought less of Sheldon because he didn't know. "And if he thinks I'm cool maybe he won't choke me when I bite him. Though I could probably get off on that. Maybe just choke me a little." One hand in his pocket, the Courier waved the other with a 50/50 motion before pointing a finger gun at Sheldon. "So what do you think? Brilliant, right?"

Sheldon stared at the Courier, mouth open, but no words coming. Honestly, Sheldon had no idea where to start explaining all the things wrong with the Courier's reasoning, let alone how to inform someone so conceited he was wrong. The longer he remained silent, the more annoyed the Courier became, dropping his hand and narrowing his eyes.

"I said 'Brilliant, right?" the Courier prompted him.

"Okay, are you actually insane?"

The Courier made the same 50/50 hand gesture as before.

"Oh god," Sheldon muttered to himself covering his face with his hand. He took a bracing breath and then dropped his hand to find the Courier looking at him expectantly. "Let me get this straight. You're in love with Joshua."

The Courier nodded enthusiastically.

"Who is a Mormon."

"Yep."

"So you're giving him photos of things you killed and pornography in hopes of him impressing him so he chokes you less."

"That's the plan."

"What does Arcade think about all of this?"

The Courier scowled. "I don't care what he thinks. He's being an asshole."

"So he told you it was a bad idea?"

"No, he said 'Well, we've had some laughs, you and I, but it looks like you're a crazy person and I'm going to have to leave,'" the Courier mimicked in a unexpectedly accurate imitation of Arcade. "Do you believe that bullshit? You launch one nuclear missile and suddenly it's 'you mad bastard' and 'a sin against humanity.'" The Courier threw his hands up, gesticulating wildly.

Sheldon's voice come out much more strained than he intended. "You launched a nuclear missile?"

Pouting once more, the Courier crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. "Okay, so it was two missiles, but one of them hit a Legion encampment so he didn't need to get so shitty about it."

If it was anyone else, Sheldon might have doubted it, but it was the Courier. If anyone could gain access to nuclear missiles and then had the lack of conscience to launch them, it would be him.

"I'm-- I don't think I'm qualified to deal with this."

Solemnly, the Courier placed a hand on Sheldon's shoulder. "It's okay, Mikey. I still like you even if you're not that bright."

\--

While he hadn’t really considered it, Sheldon wouldn’t have expected the Courier’s next appearance to be more trouble for him then the previous. In fact, since the first time they met every time the Courier showed up it had been with increasing levels of trouble. So when the Courier burst into Sheldon’s workshop, a nasty bruise blooming over the side of his face, and something closer to plasma than fire burning in his eyes, Sheldon wasn’t particularly surprised beyond the initial scare of his sudden appearance.

Instead of speaking to express what had upset him like a normal human being, the Courier howled, loud, long, and wordless, before launching himself at Sheldon. Although perfectly aware the Courier was stronger and faster than him, Sheldon attempted to fling himself out of the way only to have the Courier slam into him. In an unexpected turn of events, violence didn’t follow. Instead, Courier wrapped his arms around Sheldon’s waist and buried his face against his throat.

“You were right,” the Courier might have cried, but it came out too muffled for Sheldon to be sure.

Unsure what was happening, Sheldon didn’t really know what to do with his hands, leaving them hanging awkwardly in the air. “Wh… what?”

Pulling his face from Sheldon, the Courier wailed, “You were right. He hates me now.”

Oh, god, the Courier was actually crying. This was the man who didn’t notice he’d been shot until Arcade began berating about the blood dripping all over Sheldon’s studio. Now he clung to Sheldon, tears spilling from those wide innocent eyes.

“I’m sure,” Sheldon winced as he forced himself through what he was pretty sure was a lie, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

The Courier narrowed his eyes and loosened his hold on Sheldon as he stepped back. “How do you know?”

“How do you know he does?” Sheldon shot back, trying not to be too relieved he managed to come up with a somewhat viable response.

The Courier eyed him for a tense moment and then signed, rolling his eyes and slumping his shoulder. “Okay, I _guess_.” Releasing Sheldon, the Courier tugged his sleeve down to wipe his eyes. When he looked back up at Sheldon, the familiar mix of obstinacy and mischief had returned to his face. “How do we know for sure?”

Sheldon opened his mouth to protest the Courier’s usage of “we,” but deflated. Pointless. Rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand, Sheldon let out a long breath to give himself a moment to think. “Okay, well, what happened that makes you think Joshua hates you?”

Cocking his head to the side, the Courier tapped his chin with his finger as if he hadn’t yet considered what occurred. “Okay, so he pistol whipped me, which was cool and all. He’s really good at it, but then he threw me on the ground, which was also pretty cool. He’s really good at that too.”

Sheldon knew he stared, knew the look on his face probably wasn’t the best given the Courier’s emotional vulnerability at the moment, but then again, the Courier’s ability to translate facial expression to emotion wasn’t the best.

“But then he pressed the barrel of his .45 against my forehead and told me to give him one reason not to shoot me.” The Courier frowned, furrowing his brow, and looked at the floor. “Which was pretty nice, I guess. Normally, he just shoots people without asking.” Raising his head, he tilted it to the side and squinted at the lights, the picture of concentration. “Maybe that means he liked them?” He glanced to Sheldon for confirmation.

Now almost certain the Courier’s initial assessment had been right, Joshua probably did hate him, Sheldon struggled for an appropriate response that wouldn’t get either of them killed. He tried for a diversion. “Did he pistol whip you as soon as he saw them?”

The Courier shrugged. “I dunno. I stuck them in his Scripture and then I napped. When I woke up he was there and I got happy and then…” Despair fell over the Courier. “He hates me,” the Courier returned to wailing, throwing himself at Sheldon again.

Involuntarily, Sheldon’s arms went around the Courier, one hand resting on his back and the other patting his head. For his own sanity, Sheldon attributed the action to his instinct for self-preservation. At his touch, the Courier huddled closer and released a quiet whimper that erased any doubts Sheldon had about his actions, but caused the level of panic in his chest to rise the slightest bit.

Swallowing it down, Sheldon’s eyes flew around the room as if they’re be a solution sitting on the shelf. Sheldon blinked. There was. Three of them. Running his fingers through the mess of congealed blood and sand in the Courier’s hair, Sheldon took a breath.

“How about a drink?”

=

Instead of months between visits as before, the Courier would return every three weeks as if scheduled. Each time he remained in Zion a little longer than before and each time Joshua did his best to ignore the strange anxiety in his chest that increased every time the Courier departed without a word of goodbye or promise of return.

Joshua knew there to be a risk in his irrational attachment to the Courier, a killer with no god or master, no ambition, yet holding New Vegas on a string. Such faith in one beyond the Lord is what strayed Joshua from the righteous path before. Chaos ran through the Courier’s veins and a spark of insanity swirled in his eyes that warned him to be capable of anything. Yet, Joshua allowed him to stay among his flock, trust in the untrustworthy.

Joshua could not hold the Courier’s nature against him. The Courier was not of mind to think beyond it, living from moment to moment without considering there would be a time after. Despite the sins he committed and would no doubt commit in the future, the Courier harbored the same aura of innocence as the Dead Horses and Sorrows. He simply did not know any better.

Perhaps that was why when Joshua received message of the slaughter of seven Sorrows by the Courier’s hand, such fury overcame him. Not simply because the Courier betrayed him, but because Joshua had known what he was and still permitted his presence in Zion. Joshua had entrusted his flock to a wolf. A wolf is always a wolf. The nature of a predator cannot be changed.

And that intense rage, that familiar precursor to the sin of wrath he had thought himself above, overcame Joshua as he stood over the massacre. Joshua knew now, days after, days too late, that this was the punishment for his sin.

How foolish of him. Nothing about the scene spoke of the Courier. While no doubt the Courier could murder seven people without more than a suggestion and a hint of reward, Joshua should have known. The attack had been systematic. Two different calibers had been used, neither the Courier’s preference, but the most telling sign, the most obvious evidence the Courier had nothing to do with the slaughter was the number of bullets used.

The Courier never would have required more than fourteen shots to kill seven people. If pressed the Courier could have done it in seven.

Yet, Joshua had not seen, blinded by his fury at the senseless deaths of innocents, at the Courier and his nature, and at himself for allowing it. So when he returned to the Dead Horses’ camp, blood burning as if lit fire once more, to find the Courier rubbing sleep from his eyes and greeting him with a smile, something within his chest imploded.

Right before the butt of his pistol smashed into the Courier’s jaw, their eyes met. Joshua’s body had gone into motion with violent intent someone as honed for the battle as the Courier could not miss. Yet the Courier stood there, did not dart out of the way with the unreal reflexes Joshua had come to expect. No, the Courier’s eyes, wide and innocent, met Joshua’s and he waited for the strike. The force of the impact sent him stumbling, his wiry body not enough weight to absorb the hit. As nimble as ever, the Courier balanced himself, eyes flashing and hand reaching for That Gun of his, only to jerk to a stop.

Perhaps that was why Joshua hesitated. Perhaps that was why Joshua did not unload his gun into the Courier’s chest. The Courier’s whole body shuddered when Joshua grabbed him around throat, unresisting when Joshua slung him to the ground. Kneeling on the Courier’s chest, Joshua pressed his gun against the Courier’s forehead.

“Tell me, Courier, messenger of death, why shouldn’t I send you to the hell from which you came.”

The Courier stared up at Joshua, eyes so dark, so trusting, nothing like the anger poisoning Joshua’s soul, filled with nothing, but a pure love like that of the Lord’s.

The Courier parted his chapped lips, colored with blood from Joshua’s blow, and spoke in a tone so tender. “You can kill me if you want. I don’t mind.”

And Joshua let him go. Told him to never come back.

Since that moment, Joshua prayed to the Lord, thanking Him for staying his hand. When Joshua located the true culprits, he thanked the Lord. Forcing them to their knees in a line, Joshua thanked the Lord. Firing a bullet into the back of a skull, Joshua thanked the Lord. Firing a bullet into the next skull, the next, and the next, Joshua thanked the Lord with each pull of his trigger.

The Lord saw in his infinite wisdom to make Joshua an instrument of His will. Joshua, as is the folly of man, believed himself unerring in his holy mission. For his arrogance he lost the Courier, but the grace of God, the Courier was now free of him.

 _For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast._ -Ephesians 2:8-9


End file.
